Isador kept hold of his hand as its strength slowly returned. Whatever this mage was it was nothing like anything Strauss had ever heard of. He listened to the mages echoing voice as the light receded around him. “What do you know of honor shadow mage?!” He shouted, spinning around to try and find Valas. “You speak of courage then skulk in the darkness, why should I listen to you!?” His voice was strong but his hands were now trembling, his breath unsteady. As he whirled around to try to find his opponent the remaining light began to dim. This isn’t real…none of this is real. He tried to convince himself but his mind felt like it was fraying at the seams, thinking clearly was becoming harder and harder as if the darkness not only stole the light but what was left of his sanity.

As the light was nearly snuffed out Isador deactivated his Righteous Terror, dropping his Axe to the ground and falling to his knees. Just before the lights went out, his muddled thoughts returned to the child he failed, remembering her face for what he thought was the last time. “I failed you…Im so sorry.” He said in a quivering whisper. Suddenly the hall was filled with a blinding light, forcing Isador to shield his eyes for a moment. As he tried to look around while his eyes adjusted he saw a figure approaching him, someone too small to be Valas. When his sight returned Isador Strauss found himself kneeling before the girl dressed in white, unharmed and smiling. Isador was unable to move, was this another trick? A conjuration of this mage or a nightmare from his own mind?

The girl stepped forward and placed her hands on his cheeks, her hands were so warm it was as if she still lived. “Don’t worry about me Mr. Strauss, Im with my Mommy again.” Her voice was angelic to the Black Axe. Isador removed his gauntlets and took her hand in his. She felt so real, so alive it unlocked something in Strauss; He remembered. Every memory of traveling with her back to the tower, trying to make her laugh, telling her stories he learned from the Chantry….and her name. With his memories of her returned the Black Axe embraced the girl in a hug and did something he couldn’t recall doing for a long time: He wept. “Im so sorry Jeni…it was all my fault.” His voice, which was usually cold and devoid of passion, was now filled with sorrow and pain. His tears flowed like a river as he held Jeni his arms, not wanting to let go. “I failed all of you!” Those were the last words he could get out before he was overcome by guilt. Jeni simply hugged the Black Axe, letting him get out all the pain he had held inside since his abandonment of the order. “I don’t blame you Mr. Strauss…neither do they.” She looked him in the eyes, smiling as more figures appeared from the light behind her. All the mages Strauss brought back, every man, woman and child, all wearing white and looking at Isador not with anger but understanding. “You can’t help us anymore, you don’t need to.” She ended the embrace and joined the others. “But you can still save them.” She said as she gestured behind them where shining silhouettes of more people stretching far in to the light beyond what Strauss could see. “They still live Mr. Strauss, and they need your help.” Not only Jeni spoke these words, but all the others in unison. “You can save them Isador, you can be their guiding light.” Isador looked at the all the silhouettes awestruck. There were so many, adults and children, humans and elves. He looked upon them and remembered his corrupted superiors in the order and what they had done, what they could still do to all these people and it enraged him. Not with a bloodlust that clouded his mind, but a righteous anger at those responsible. His hands shook with fury as he took hold of his Axe, putting the blade to the ground and holding the grip down on one knee and looked back at Jeni. “I promise….I will not fail again.” Jenny smiled at his one last time, kissing his cheek before her and all the others faded with the light, leaving Isador in the small circle of light in the darkness. A twinge of pain shot through Strauss as Jeni left him but he got back on his feet gripping his Axe so tight his knuckles were white. He was left in the dark with his fury welling up inside until he could not contain it.

With a deep breath Isador let out his anger in a furious roar. This was not a bestial roar but a battle cry, a call to arms, an announcement that Isador Strauss was a puppet to his madness no longer. His voice echoed through the darkness, even through the halls of the castle; any inside the castle walls would have heard the fury in his voice. As his voice gave out he took his Axe above his head and brought it to the ground with all his strength, breaking the stone and releasing a light as bright and beautiful as the one that brought Jeni and burned away the darkness. “I feel fear no more.” His voice was once again strong and filled with conviction. Isador was still unsure if Jeni had been a hallucination or another trick from the mage but he did not care. He would not fail them again; he would never let fear blind him, for now Isador Strauss saw the light once more.

-A meal among the trees-

Teelo drank to disgusting potion given to him by the elf and tried to wipe the taste off his tongue despite it healing his wounds. “Bleh!” He threw the bottle in to the brush and stood once more to stretch, having never been healed with magic before. He listened to the elf as he spoke his name but it was a strange word Teelo had not heard before. “Zaslasim….Zalasim…Zasl….Teelo will call you the Fire Elf!” He announced after quickly giving up on saying the hard word. He transformed in to a wolf to better scratch the fleas on his head as Zasalim spoke elf words and took out the delicious smelling meat. Teelo changed back and grabbed the meat, sniffing it quite a before ripping in to it, snarling like a wolf. It….was the greatest thing Teelo had ever tasted. He whimpered and began to roll around on his back as he savored the flavor. “Ma Seran…Seran…Serannas!” He said with a smile as he took another bite of jerky. From his difficulty with the word it was somewhat obvious that Teelo spoke just as little Elvish as he did the Human tongue.He finished off the jerky and began to lick his fingers clean as Zasalim asked about how he could fight which puzzled Teelo. “Teelo always remember fighting, Wolf-Father show Teelo how to hunt and fight like others.” He said with a big yawn, scratching his belly. He noticed that the old Templar tabard he wore was nearly ripped to shreds and decided to take it off, throwing it to the side. “Can the Fire Elf not fight like a bear?”

Zasalim watched as the feral child reacted to the healing concoction and while he was used to drinking the substance he could understand a child doing what he did. Elfroot wasn't exactly sweet and as most healing herbs were indeed bitter this one was in no way an exception. He merely chuckled as the kid verbalized his distaste of the medicine. He responded similarly to the child fumbling over his name and the elven tongue. It seemed looks weren't so deceiving in the case of young Teelo. He looked like a child of the wilds, and behaved as such. The portion of nug jerky he offered was attacked initially with a ferocity one might expect of a dread wolf, but as the flavor reached him he began to savor it. The response he got to the question posed to the shapeshifter confirmed his suspicions, but in formulating his own response he had to consider that his words might not be understood, or fall on deaf ears. Either way he saw this as a moment to gain a friend.

"Call me Z... or slim, but to answer you, no. I cannot do what you can so effortlessly. I've heard and read about shapeshifters, but it's a rare form of magic to see in practice. MY magical talents are focused a bit differently than your own; as you saw earlier, but you fight good and you have my thanks. I am going back to where I got that meat from, if you want to go. I need to make some head way before night fall though" he said to the boy. Zasalim took a moment to scan his surroundings before plotting a path through the woods towards Orzammar. Without a larger group he didn't like taking the road and he could imagine Teelo would prefer the woods as well. He awaited the boys response before embarking upon his little journey.

Breathtaking was the light that erupted from Isador, a light that exceeded even Valas' wildest imagination. Of course he'd known that if he pushed the former templar to far, but with hallucinations and old memories, the man would crack and rebuild. Though it was a 50/50 chance of it getting worse or becoming the beacon Valas needed to rally other likeminded men and women to the cause of beating back a darkness that paled even the shadow mage himself.

The roar that man released sent a chill to his very core, invigorating his limbs and mind with a fresh and icy calm that only made Valas want his ultimate victory all the more. To rid this world of the the darkness even now threatening to destroy this world he held so dear. It was all the mage could do to put his hand up and block out the light and sound of the demigod he'd likely just created.

The light dimmed and the darkness returned to coat Valas in its smoke-like embrace once more, even the torches billowed the natural red flames again. All was right again.

"You may not feel fear, but others in this world do." Valas chimed in after, "I believe now is as good a time as any to explain what and why I am." The mask was slowly peeled off of the shadow mages skull, revealing the sickly pale grey flesh below, and highlighting his obsidian black eyes. A stiff bow followed the unveiling.

"My name is Valas Delrune, runaway of the mages. Years ago I took an experiment to far and it resulted in a cataclysm unlike any other performed in that cursed tower. Blood magic, tainted by a corrupted arcane essence, created this blackened shadow you see upon me. It is a virus of sorts that infects others, replacing the magic inside them with a hellish corruption. Yet I am no more evil than the warden commander you've been ordered to kill." The skeletal helmet slid back over his features, his hood further adding to the dim of it all. "I have been shown a vision of another man using the foulest magics I've ever felt attempting to destroy this world in a savage assault of pain and evil, threatening to consume this world and any others it can get to. To beat this thing, We must change the way the mage order works. How the templars blindly follow. We must change this world, and quickly. Time is short."

The iron skeleton staff thumped down in the stones below, both flames billowing out of the eye sockets. "Let us change this world together Isador. Not as master and servant, like those foul mages would, but as equals of a just cause." His left arm outstretched towards Isador, the shadowed smoke receeding as much as Valas could manage to prevent any infectious attack.

When they shook hands it would be a sign of a new beginning. A time for both to repent for age old sins and wrong the rights so many others have made. Valas had gained a powerful bodyguard and friend, while Isador had gained guidance and wisdom.

“A single, exceptionally skilled, elf witch.” Airi corrected the Templar at the end of his threat. All the while the girl was smiling, she didn’t seem the least bit threatened by the group of imposing soldiers. It was true that Templars excelled in fighting mages, what with their ability to interrupt the casting of spells. However Airi was well aware of this fact even if she hadn’t personally had much experience with dealing with Templars, a high elf such as herself didn’t bow to the might of the Templars. The smile on her face twisted slightly and she let out a short chuckle.

“Well at least now we have a volunteer for who gets to die last.” The woman said, eyeing up the lead Templar with a cool stare and smile. “You did have some very good points though… you Templar are very good at countering spells and what’s more your combat skills are also top notch.” She said as she began to pace back and forth, counting on her fingers the points that she had begun listing. “However I am capable of doing certain things that other mages can’t, for example…” Airi paused for a moment, her smile widening a bit before she continued.

“I am the kind of mage who can take one spell and make it my own, make it special… Death cloud is one of my personal favorites, are you familiar with that spell at all Templar? Well no matter, for you see I am able to use this spell in a very unique way… I can control the way that it flows, even make it so thin that a person can neither see nor smell it… Normally such manipulation is very taxing because usually enemies aren’t kind enough to pile into a small room such as this… Also, if you haven’t already figured it out… I’ve been stalling this whole time so that the effects would work its way into all of your systems.” Airi had planned for intruders to invade her room like this, she wasn’t going to let anyone out to kill her off very easily.

As she had just explained, Death Cloud normally would have been a very difficult spell to maintain for such a time, however this situation was in her favor. All she needed to do was hold it at the entrances of the room, and buy some time for the effects to start taking hold once a person walked through it. “Now then, who can talk despite that excruciating pain working its way throughout your bodies?”

-Bill-

Bill noticed something flying towards him, a bottle of some kind. He was experienced enough to know that nothing good would come from that bottle, whether it be poison or something else he needed to avoid it somehow. The man’s feet came to a grinding halt, however the momentum of his body prevented him from changing direction in time for a dodge. Bill would have cursed if he had the time to do so, but instead he lifted up one of his legs and kicked forwards on the back of his shield.

The leather straps that were holding the shield onto his arm snapped at a moment’s notice, however the man’s kick wasn’t so light to stop with just that. The massive shield of rock and steel went flying forwards, hitting the bottle far before intended and launching itself towards the cloaked figure. As the shield went flying through the air the bottle broke against the shield, its contents spilling onto it as the whole package now was flying into the direction of the person who had thrown it, if the bottle was full of poison his return to sender attack would have worked doubly well. However even if it didn’t work as Bill had hoped, it completely changed the way that Bill would continue with the battle.

The loss of his shield was a regretful thing to be sure, but what Bill just lost in defense he gained in something else… mobility. The shield itself weighed just as much if not more than the rest of his armor, effectively speaking he had just halved the weight he was carrying. However the stone knight didn’t move as such, his movements were still the same speed as they had been before as he raised his club upwards into a two handed grip.

Val turned to the side and allowed the shards of rock to ping of her armor. This was certainly a new experience for her. Usually people were upset that she killed them, not when she didn't. Must be more of this honor garbage. Sometimes she felt like she was in Orlais where if you weren't careful about how you bought fruit from certain vendors, you'd find an assassin SWAT team descending on your hooded ass in no time.

She could "feel" the rage coming from him. She suspected it was whatever source of magic he was using. It was defiantly based from the Fade, but felt more a kin to spiritual energy then magic. In which case her redirection would prove useless. But as for his question...

She didn't really have an answer.

Killing. Death. She never had a problem with it before. But this time, it just felt wrong. She couldn't explain it, although she could feel the tendrils of bloodlust pulling at her. By the Gods, it felt good sometimes... and there was something else pushing her along. Something like a craving, a burning pleasure that was buzzing in the back of her head. Something just didn't feel right, her wrist was burning... perhaps a bit more wouldn't hurt.

Val stepped forward and smacked Vovin's sword down with her own blade. "And what? End my game this early?" she responded teasingly. Perhaps the boy could use a few rounds of beatings. Hell, that's what Marcus left them alone for. With a sudden application of grace and speed, she brought her blade back up and scratched the surface of his armor. Using some of the momentum she had built up, the Warden-Commander leaped forward on top of the knight and slammed him into the ground. "You aren't getting tired already are you?" she said mockingly in a seductive tone as she place a her hand, still clutching a sword, on his chest while the other blade was across his neck.

Knight-Captain Gregor - Deacon

He was tired, Gregor would admit that. Not physically, hell he wasn't that old yet. But mentally, spiritually even... Rest, rest would be nic-. He gave his former friend a sad smile. "Right to business it is then... you have changed a bit Deacon." the Knight-Captain placed his blade across his shoulders and placed his hands on top. The soldiers around them had finally gotten the idea that there was a score about to be settled here, and they gave the two men some space.

"Unlike you, I follow my orders," Gregor shot back. "I lead the forces of Teryn Cousland here. He has information that indicates that the Warden-Commander is here, that is who we are after. She has a magical device that is capable of controlling the Darkspawn. We believe that the Wardens and some unknown individual is responsible for the destruction and chaos that is afflicting this nation. These men have chosen to fight against us. We are fighting for the future."

He listened as Gregor spoke. So that's why they were here. Did that Darkspawn that he encountered earlier have something to do with this? ...No, that creature was fighting of it's own free will. He could tell in the way that it spoke, and the way that it fought. Still, what was he to do about this? At that moment, an idea worked it's way into his mind. As Gregor finished speaking, he decided to test this theory.

Deacon closed his eyes, and lowered his head, as well as his blade. Those close by could then hear a faint chuckle coming from the man. Slowly, it became a laughter that could be heard by all who wear near him. "Orders, you say? Haha, tell me, are those orders so absolute that they blind you to the truth?" He stared into his comrades eyes, as serious as ever. "There is indeed a Darkspawn within these walls, my friend. I saw him myself, as he engaged me in combat. He bore a high-ranking cloak... and a purple armband on his sleeve." Deacon pointed to the Teryn's men in the courtyard. "It wouldn't be that hard to recognize it. Everyone around you is wearing one..."

Once again, he pointed his blade at his old friend. "Use your head for once! Why would a man such as Cousland launch such an assault on the Warden-Commander? It is a Warden's sworn duty to rid the world of the Darkspawn! Who else would pose a greater threat to a man who clearly seeks to control such a darkness?" He did not waver in his speech, nor in his stance. To all who would be watching, nothing but the truth left his lips. "You have been deceived, Gregor! Can't you see it? Your 'orders' are nothing more than a means to an end for the Teryn! Help us drive back this attack, and fight for true justice again, as a Templar should!"

Vovin felt the dragon's spirit surge with anticipation as Val reengaged with him. This would be his final push, his stamina was all but gone. Soon he would no longer be able to sustain his full power Veil, and then he really would stand no chance against the Warden Commander. Although he hated to admit it, she was just too bloody fast, and without the Veil he would be finished in no time. But the young knight had to wonder, why WAS Valmyria holding back? She seemed accustomed to taking a life, why was he an exception? The spirit warrior's thoughts were cut off by the fact that he was falling over, with Val on top of him! Somehow, Vovin hit the ground in just the right way to knock his helmet loose, and the black piece of armor rolled across the balcony. With his face revealed, Vovin found himself looking up at Valmyria with a blade pressed to his throat. Despite the battle rage that coursed through him, Vovin could not help noticing the nature of Valmyria's taunt. A slight blush warmed the young man's cheeks, before it seemed as though the dragon spirit itself was snapping at him via a pulse of furor.

"Not at all. Vovin lied with a smirk as he felt his energy draining away. "Are you?"Valmyria had made a critical mistake in assuming that her position meant that Vovin was disadvantaged. With those words Vovin let loose with the strongest Dragon Burst he could muster, blasting Valmyria into the air. Quickly rising to his feet, Vovin knew that were he to kill the Warden Commander, it would be now. Bringing his sword up and then down in an overhead swing, if the attack connected and Val was unable to block or evade, she would be cleaved in half mid air. As the blade traveled forward towards its target, time seemed to slow down. Vovin recalled Val's hesitation when she had the chance to strike a deadly blow, the quite noticeable struggle she had when Vovin confronted her about it. Vovin gritted his teeth...and turned the blade. Now he was striking with the flat of his sword and the blow would not be fatal. Even if Val managed to block it mid-air the impact would still send her crashing into the hard balcony, a jarring impact at the least. Regardless of how the attack turned out, Vovin's Veil would suddenly shut off, the last of his stamina gone. Breathing hard, Vovin leaned slightly on his sword, simply awaiting what would come next.

Isador listened to Valas explain his situation and the reasons behind it and it only furrowed his brow more. The black sickness slithering across Valas’ skin was a perfect example that the Templars were neglecting their sacred duty. He did not blame the mage, for he was like a child stumbling through knowledge and power that was not meant for mortal hands. He shook Delrunes hand out of respect for his part in restoring a semblance of his sanity but as Valas went to end the handshake Isador tightened his grip and narrowed his eyes at the mage. “I thank you for helping me Valas….but know this…..as far as Im concerned you are plagued with the same corrupting essence that blackened the Golden City.” His voice was calm and certain. “If for any reason I believe that this sickness has taken your mind I will end your suffering myself.” With that he let go of the mages hand and placed his Axe across his back. “Now….where is this Warden Commander, I am done following the orders of those I do not respect blindly.” He said as he opened the doors the the main hall and began walking slowly down the corridor waiting for Valas to catch up.

-Teelo’s Journey-Teelo’s ears twitched as Zasalim mentioned going to the land of the delicious meat. “Teelo can find more meat!?” He smiled wide with excitement and howled loudly with glee. “Teelo want go with Z~” He chanted over and over again as he hopped around Zasalim while he got his bearings, the multitude of trinkets hanging from his neck jingling loudly. He couldn’t wait to taste that meat again with its savory flavor, like nothing Teelo had eaten before. As the two set out on their path Teelo settled down somewhat to save energy for the travel and began following alongside Zasalim hunched over on all fours. “Do elfs hunt the meat? Elf food taste like leaves and bark.” He said, sticking out his tongue.

This was really the only thing that was going through her head at the moment. She should have known, or at least damn well suspected that he'd be able to use whatever energy to create some sort of a blast like this. Valmyria spun through the air, unable to get her decent into control, and she knew that she was exposed.

Terribly so.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

The rang of metal on metal filled her ears and she suddenly found herself on the balcony floor gasping for air. Breathing was painful. But with sheer will power she slowly pushed herself up to her knees, gasping in pain at every slight movement. The ground beneath her was cracked and dented inward. Slowly, with a shaking hand she reached out to what will be the epicenter of her pain; her right side. Right now it was numb, in shock. But she could feel the dent. It was huge and caused bulging in her front and back, deforming both the plates. Valmyria noted though, as her eyes caught sight of her hand steadying her, that the blow and the impact had caused every single defense rune to flare up, and they still remained bright.

The force of the blow and the impact had overloaded every one of the enchanted runes. They had saved her from broken bones from the impact, and would more likely have some pretty nasty bruises. the runes would eventually cool down, already she could see them diminish in their intensity. She would need a mage to look at the runes to assess just how intact the defensive matrix was, and it was a damn good thing the Master Smith himself was here.

Val reached over the the clamps holding the ruined armor in place and popped them off. She would have less armor now, obviously, but she couldn't fight with a breast plate that had sustained so much damage. The plate slide off and hit the ground with a thud. Underneath, she was wearing a dark blue blouse with a black leather vest. A single, silver disk hung from her neck that caught the light of the disk. In its very center was a small vile filled with blood.

The Warden reached up to the battlement and used it to pull herself to her feet. Pain flared up through her leg and she gritted her teeth in frustration. She applied some pressure on the leg and found that it was still in good shape. One of her swords had landed a few feet away from her, the other was luckily still in her hand. Slowly, but gaining confidence in every step, she limped over to the blade and picked it up. In a smooth motion, she slide the blade back into its sheath on her hip.

The soft blue glow of healing magic sprung to life in her left hand. She gently placed it over her right side and slowly moved her hand up and down over the painful area. "You... son of a bitch, she said gasping a little from the pain. "I liked that armor."

Knight-Captain Gregor - Deacon.

The man remained silent at Deacon's remarks and accusations. Some men would label Gregor's actions of being nothing more than blind obedience. He liked to think of it as more like blind trust. He suspected some of what Deacon was saying, but it couldn't be right. The Revered Mother of Denerim herself had assigned him to represent her with the Teryn. Cousland was a man who believed strongly in a better future. A future where peace and harmony reigned free. Fear would be thing of the past. He could place his sword above his fireplace, live the remaining days of his life raising a family on a farm outside of some small village, and telling his grandchildren of his adventures.

"I am bound to my duty," he responded quietly. "I shall remain vigilant and unyielding in my pursuit of the enemies of the Chantry. I will defend and maintain the order of life as it was proclaimed by Andraste, Our Lady Redeemer, in the Chant of Life. I will forsake the life I had before so I may perform my duty as long as I am needed. Steadfast. I shall hold my place in the machine and acknowledge my place in the Order. I am a Templar."

Gregor shifted his weight and looked up at Deacon, his eyes cold and unforgiving, but full of pain and perhaps remorse. "What I do is for the future, Deacon." he spat. "The Wardens would have us living in fear of the darkspawn! They seek nothing else but power, lead by lust and blind ambition. I- the Teryn, he would have it otherwise. Where we live as free men... and I will do anything to ensure that we have this future."

The Templar swung the blade from shoulders and placed himself in a combat ready stance.

He should have known that his speech wouldn't work. The man was too "devout" for such a tactic. However, he knew of the future that Gregor spoke of. He had dreamed of such a place as well. He was tired of fighting, of killing. But as long as those such as the Teryn existed in this world, he would never put down his sword. In the end, Gregor wanted the same thing as him, yet this future... was not worth the price he was willing to pay.

"A fool until the end..." Deacon stared as his former comrade took up his blade against him. Although it was difficult to see it with the blood that had smothered his body, he was crying, if only for a moment. "And so, without proof...", he quietly spoke, "You would condemn these people to death and destruction..."

Deacon threw a piercing gaze at his new opponent, his eyes burning in raging fire. "I cannot..." In his eyes, he saw the countless charred corpses that littered the village ground five years ago. "I will not let such an atrocity ever happen AGAIN!" His blade almost seemed to resonate with his anger, as he took up stance against the Knight-Captain. "Even if I am to die this day, Gregor, I will stop you, here and now!" He pulled his shield from the strap on his back. He would need it against this man, his only friend.

Ground came up fast to swallow the jumping darkspawn, the big mans shield clipped him on the leg and sent the unfortunate creature in a slight spin resulting in a crashing heap of leather and metal grinding on the ground. Sheer force of will kept him moving with another short leap as the big man launched the corpse at the sound, the sickening squish of bones and armor breaking was a pretty good indication of what had happened. Now it was time to go back on the offensive.

Around the darkspawn was a multitude of fallen weapons, and each one got its chance to be used. The smoke of fire and the chunks of the balcony and a whole tower collapsing on the courtyard made it easier to avoid being seen, slipping silently from the chunks of rock and through the heavier clouds of smoke and dust still in the air. A spear streaked out behind Bill to thunk harmlessly into the clay protection, drawing a minor crack and chipping away a slight amount of the substance. Two more spears, a spinning sword and axe, and a heavy warhammer followed in short order to chip at the armor, even as the big man swatted them away with a massive swing of that club.

Zha'Gren had doubled back behind him to where the shield had slammed, spewing the acidic substance on the ground but luck smiled on him. The shield had literally exploded when it slammed into the balcony, weakened as it was by the spiders acidic venom. A small amount was still trying to dissolve a small bowl of the dented shield and that would serve as best Zha could hope for. The hunter leaned down and quickly scooped up a hooked dagger from a dead mans belt nearby and coated the weapon in the foul substance with a quick splash in the bowl. No time to waste admiring or being worred.

Out of the smoke ran the darkspawn, hunched over and running with the agility born from discipline and skill of a master hunter. Bill was quick, quicker than a man his size and with that much armor, had any right to really be. Magic was an assumption. The WHOOSH preceeded the mans vicious backhand swing, all of the mans weight into the swing in a direct arc hoping to clip him but it wasn't enough. Zha'gren shoved with all the strength of his legs to fall into a controlled slide ride under the heavy swing and no doubt surprising the heavy man as he felt no solid thump and lost sight of it briefly. Between his legs went Zha'gren and his one hope was that this worked. At the back of the leg was obviously a less armored portion of that heavy plate, otherwise it'd be extremely difficult to move in such a heavy suit of armor. The dagger was dissolving but it still held firmly as Zha'gren slashed into the back of the mans knee. He felt flesh for the briefest of moments as the acid ate through the chainmail enough to draw a tiny cut at the back of the knee.

Bill gasped but didn't flinch.

Zha'gren flinched.

As the darkspawn came to his feet he learned just how strong the big man was. Also how angry he was.The heavy club slammed home into the Darkspawn with enough force to throw him clear across the courtyard and into the stone wall on the far end with a heavy thump, blood trickling at the mouth of the hunter to leak below the mask he wore. It was all he could do to land and stay on his feet, swooning between consciousness, frantically shaking his head to clear away the stars. Still, from the looks of the bodies around him it was a miracle he could move at all.

Zha'gren drew his scimitar and advanced on the freakishly strong knight, thinking darkly, You will be my greatest trophy.

Valas only smiled as his newly formed weapon gained the confidence and determination it needed to direct his previous rage. A worthy weapon indeed. But the battle had not been won in such an overwhelming way as Isador might have thought. Even illusions used needed magic to power them, and the only magic capable was the one that coated his body like a cloak. It was not without its limits. A light cough had him bending over with a crimson handkerchief held up to his lips, dying the red fabric even further with his blood escaping from his lungs. The sands of time never stopped moving.

Scrambles wrote:“I thank you for helping me Valas….but know this…..as far as Im concerned you are plagued with the same corrupting essence that blackened the Golden City.” His voice was calm and certain. “If for any reason I believe that this sickness has taken your mind I will end your suffering myself.” With that he let go of the mages hand and placed his Axe across his back.

The wry smile behind his helmet only grew further, his voice still a whisper in Isadors ear. "My corruption is my strength. If I should falter, you are welcomed to end my life," A small cough escaped his lips briefly as he continued. "But you must finish what I started." With that he followed Isador into the fray.

With a little luck they could clear out this wretched 'invasion' and have time left to save the warden.

Zasalim smiled at the rambunctious youth as Teelo bounced around in excitement. He could agree that smoked nug was good, but there was better meat to be had and much better food available so long as one had the proper coin. He listened for a bit as they walked among the trees, then went about answering the boy. "Our food depends on the cook and the forest, lad. We hunt, and I do fish if necessary, but in this place they trade the meat for these-" he said as he pulled a few silvers from his coin purse. "We're headed to Orzammar, home of the dwarves."

As they traveled through the wilderness between the Frostback mountains and Lake calenhad toward the dwarven kingdom of Orzammar, Zasalim couldn't help but notice the birthmark that adorned Teelo's back. It resembled a wolf's head and there was something blurry written along side it. The mark was peculiar to him, almost familiar. He couldn't quite place it, but he had seen that somewhere before. It then donned on him where he remembered it from. During his research of the old ruins, he found but a single shine dedicated to it. It was one of the Old Gods of the Dalish, Fen'Harel the Dread wolf, if he recalled the inscription at the shrine correctly. He couldn't make out the scripture that surrounded the mark on Teelo, but in his research he came across ancient stories depicting Fen'Harel as a master trickster, and the most famous of his deeds know as the Great Betrayal. "Fen'Harel..." Zasalim uttered softly as he looked upon the mark. He wasn't sure if Teelo would respond or how the mark correlated to the boy, but it made him wary despite not believing in the elven pantheon to begin with.

Arvashok glanced down to ensure the dent in his plating was purely cosmetic. He disliked how easy it was to damage this human crafting. He moved his free hand to the custom-fitted Warden chestplate, sliding his large fingers into the side. The dent was soon pushed back out, keeping the Qunari from having his movement hindered further. His eyes remaining on Marcus, focused on the elder human. The difference in their armor was easily clear. Whereas Marcus' armor was made with the hands of a skilled master, Arvashok's armor was only special for the custom fittings so that he could actually wear Warden armoring.

Arvashok began taking slow steps forward, closing the distance while being ready if Marcus charged in. The armor may give Marcus enough advantage to last, but he was still human. A human that -- clearly -- welcomed detrimental addictions. I doubt these basra even know what it does... He strolled forward still, tilting his head a bit to look down at all three of Marcus' hammers. If he could give himself a whole second, he could easily take the human's toys away. But the smithy would be on guard for that now.

He needed another angle... Arvashok looked up to Marcus' face and found what he would take next. A head was quite the prize to protect... But also easy to use to distract. The large axe in the Qunari's hand shot forth in another thrust, aiming for Marcus' neck again. His hand then lunged forward toward the man's chest, pushing him to move him back and unbalance him before suddenly flicking up to try and grasp the human's face. If he could put his fingers on the man, one swift squeeze would end the fight right away. The thrusting axe pulled back from its feint, moving down to push Marcus' large hammer between the forked blades and attempt to pull it away from the man's hands.

Vovin could see that he had manage to even up the playing field in one blow, but the fact remained that he was utterly drained. Val was struggling to rise to her feet, and Vovin was struggling to stay on his. Vovin staggered a little as he took a few steps forward, his sword still pointing downward. He took a glance at Marcus, who was still locked in combat with the Qunari. Their battle seemed to be a lot slower than Vovin and Valmyria's, but the power behind their movements was practically visible. Vovin secretly wished the best for Marcus, but his face betrayed nothing of this feeling. Turning his attention back to Val, Vovin realized that if the Warden Commander was in any better shape than he, the battle would be over instantly. He could hardly lift his sword after having his cloak on full power for so long. He would need a few moments to rest. So he would try and get Val talking to stall.

"I could have...cleaved you in half just then." Vovin panted, his voice punctuated by his heavy breathing. "I think the armor is the least of your worries." He continued, keeping his movements slow and non threatening.

"Could have, but didn't. Bandu Thoribas! " she replied, leveling her sword at Vovin. Her voice was more steady then Vovin's, and she knew the Dragon Knight had drained himself. He was foolish for trying to bring about that much power against a nimble opponent. She had to take him out now before he recovered. No mercy here, no hesitation. A smile formed on her face. She had to have one last joke at the Knight's expense before this was all over. "You know, you didn't last very long. I'm probably not the only girl you've disappointed. Did you have some performance anxiety there or is it always this short of a ride?"

A noise from the other side of the balcony distracted Valmyria. She turned to look and her least favorite person in the world entered into the arena; Warden Grashen. An average sized man, came from no notable family, and was in the training process to become a Templar. He reflected this in his choice of armor; Templar Scout class armor, painted black with a silver Warden griffon painted over the front. He had opposed her since she was selected to be a recruit into the order, and was one of the biggest critics of her. But he was a man of honor, and one who sore to uphold a Oath. Even though they didn't see eye to eye, there were still on the same team. "Grashen," commented Val. "Your Commander was nearly assassinated, but she is still alive."

"It's why I'm here, my lady," he said as he walked up to the two combatants. He stood slightly to the side of Valmyria and smiled at Vovin. He reached for a flask at his hip and tossed it to Vovin. "That should help you feel better!" he called out, catching Valmyria off guard. Then, without warning, he was in front of her, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Gras-," she gasped as the Warden shoved a dagger into her stomach. Pain, bewilderment, shock played across her face as her eyes widened.

"You never belonged with us, witch," he whispered into her ear. The Warden removed his dagger and shoved Valmyria back. She stumbled from the force until she fell over. The Sword of the Warden she had been holding clanged off the stone balcony. "You should never have existed, never should have been. Just some bitch that needed to be put out of her misery."

"len'alas lath'din" she managed to get out as blood seeped from her mouth. The Warden Commander reached up to her wound, hand pulsating green, but the blood dripped from between her fingers.

"I don't know if you know this BUT I DON'T SPEAK ELVISH," he yelled at her as she struggled to get away from him. He had reached where she had dropped the sword and picked it up, examining it like it was a fine jewel. "This. This is my destiny," he said. "To lead others out of the darkness and into the light. To protect from nightmares with power and authority. Something you had always been to afraid to do." He had reached her and grabbed the elf by the throat. He hauled her up to her feet next to the railing of the balcony. "Seems like something caught you tongue," said Grashen as he was choking her. "Lets see if we can release some of that pressure."

Before he could do anything else, Valmyria's foot shot up and caught the unsuspecting man square in the crotch. Gasping in pain, he let go over her, and Valmyria shoved herself over the edge.

She was falling, but in control.

Reaching out, she caught a hold of one of the many banners that adorned the castle and over the courtyard. a few stray arrows passed by her, but nothing aimed at her. Whoever had seen her was probably gawking. But the moment of safety didn't last as she felt the banner tear under her weight and started to drop. the banner caught on something though, causing the Warden Commander to swing forward and loose her grip. Val yelled as she tumbled through the air and crashed through a window of some corridor. She landed in a heap against the wall, causing some armor and things to fall to the ground. She could feel the blood rushing from the wound. Whatever short magic she had done to it, the fall had opened it back up again. Gritting her teeth, she placed her hand over the wound to begin the healing magic again and grabbed a hold of one of the tapestries to pull herself up, and leaned against it. Valmyria looked up and saw some sort of creepy necromancer, the dark energies of magic just radiated off of him. In next to him was a very bloody man wearing heavy plate and wielding a Black Axe.

"Dammit," she muttered as she pulled out her knife.

Knight-Captain Gregor - Deacon.

The Captain remained stone faced. He would not yield anymore than Deacon would and sadly admitted to himself that the Teryn was right; his friend would not be joining him in the future paradise but that he had to die to make it possible.

And Gregor was willing to provide that. It was almost time for the Trump Card to be played too, and when that happened, he wanted Deacon to see the power he had just thrown away.

He said nothing, but rushed towards his friend, and swung the sword in a upwards motion. The blow wasn't directed at Deacon, but at his shield. The motion was designed to disarm opponents and remove shields. Very effective, it could even break an arm, but he doubted that he was going to get that lucky here. He felt the blade bite into the shield, and tear it away from Deacon.

The sound of a struggle was everywhere, men and women dying for a belief nobody could really place. Teryn. Warden. All died for the sake of something, Valas just prayed that they died without the regret that so often haunts a persons soul. His thoughts need not matter a moment later as, much to his shock, the Warden Commander all but fell from the sky to cross paths with the convert and the, what he assumed she was thinking during the little curse she gave upon seeing him, 'Necromancer thing.'

Valas stepped forward to block Isadors path with an upraised arm, the staff in his right hand ceased its glow as he stepped forward without it. The staffs flame guttered out but did not fall, instead it hovered just off the ground waiting for its master to grab it. Valas spoke with his usual whisper, cutting through even the sound of combat and thought itself to be heard clearly. "Valmyria Windstrider. Good," His head turned to look at Isador. "She is wounded badly. Protect us while I apply what help I can." His attention turned back to Valmyria, the skull mask gleaming in the dim torchlight. "We're no enemies of yours," He whispered, both hands upraised as he advanced, the shadows on him visibly receeding to reveal the black robe and grey flesh covering his arms. "I am Valas, and that is Isador," The shadowmage reached into his back pocket to pull out a small glass vial he had taken from a body on the way over, "Take this quickly. We must leave this place." A glance behind him revealed a grim sight. A dozen of the Teryns men had seen the escape of someone through the window and were closing in to finish off whoever had made the daring escape.

It was trust a stranger or fight the danger. Time was not on anyones side.

Last edited by Seirui on Mon Jul 29, 2013 8:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.

The shield flew far, smacking some poor sod in the head. In truth, Deacon was hoping for this. Between the two of them, speed was on Deacon's side. The force of the disarmament brought his hand backwards. He took advantage of this, and grabbed his dagger, striking Gregor's right arm. With precision, he cut each and every strap that held his arm plating in place, leaving the skin untouched. He immediately followed this with a sweep kick, knocking Gregor to the ground before pointing his blade in his face. Deacon could see the anger in his friend's eyes, the anger one shows to a true enemy.

"I can see it in your eyes... You feel that I betrayed you, that I betrayed the Order..." Deacon got some distance between them, and continued. "Tell me, do you remember the village? You had let me live that day... But! Three days was all it took for the Seekers to find me. Those bastards didn't even bother to find my house... they just burned them all." As he spoke, Deacon did his best to fight back the tears. "Every man, every woman, every child! They were mere husks in less than an hour! They were innocent, every last one of them! Yet the Order saw fit to cast them into Oblivion just to kill me!" Deacon returned to combat stance, and held his ground. "Why would I follow an Order... willing to do that?"

He wouldn't run away from this fight, not this one. He was tired of those in power getting their way. However, he couldn't shake this feeling... Were they being watched? Amidst the combat, he felt as though someone was there, watching and waiting for the outcome between these two men. Perhaps... perhaps the Teryn trusted Gregor less than he had thought...

"Well I guess that's what I get for showing mercy. Cheap insults and no gratitude." Vovin replied to Val's snarky remark. Vovin grimaced and managed to ready his sword, but he knew it was futile. Valmyria was not as winded as he was, and this fight was over. Maybe if he got lucky Marcus would intervene and save his life...

Or maybe it would be some strange new man. Valmyria seemed to recognize him, and Vovin took the chance to simply watch their interaction. While Val didn't seemed pleased to see him, her words and body language suggested she counted him as an ally. To both her and Vovin's surprise, he wasn't. Vovin caught the flask but was wary of it at first. Wasn't this newcomer his foe's ally? Why would he...it was then that Vovin saw the flash of the knife and Valmyria's eyes went wide. Vovin watched as the man began a speech, a speech that caused Vovin's grip on the flask to tighten with rage. Treachery! Val trusted that man and he just...stabbed her. Vovin tore the seal off of the flask and downed the contents in one go. He felt his strength return almost instantly, like he had felt right before his battle with the Warden Commander. Vovin stalked towards the man known as Grashen. He did not care that the man had just saved his life and aided his cause, such an action was so utterly dishonorable that Vovin simply could not, would not stand for it.

Grashen seemed to recovering from a well deserved kick in the nuts. He had a lot more to worry about. Vovin brought the tip of his sword upward from a lowered position, catching Grashen in the stomach right as he turned to face the Dragon Knight. Impaled on the large blade, Grashen could only watch and wince in pain as Vovin brought him off his feet. His rage lending him strength, Vovin hissed at his victim. "She was your ally and you betrayed her. What kind of a man stabs his friends in the back? I do not care that you just saved me, I will not accept such a dishonorable act. The only reason I even drank the concoction that your filthy hands gave to me was so that I could have the strength to off you myself. The world is better off." With those words, Vovin violently yanked his sword from the Warden's gut and backed away. He wanted to watch this man die. Grashen would be struggling to keep his insides from becoming outsides. Vovin merely waited.

The Templars looked at each other and shrugged. They didn't really care, they were just there t-

The man on the leader's left dropped his sword. his back was arched and it looked like every single muscle was spazing out of control. The templar fell onto the floor, and a few more followed. One was puking blood through his helmet. The Leader's eye's opened wide, but he found that he couldn't move either. The pain was so intense. It was like every nerve was being fried, every bone was burning. "Gah-" was the only thing he could say before dropping to his knees. He wanted the blackness of unconsciousness to free him from this experience. but something was forcing him to stay awake, denying him that pleasure. He could feel it. Holding him in place as his life was slowly ground away from him.

"Ahh, t-t-the Warden," stammered someone behind him. He couldn't see who it was but knew that he was one of the local Chantry Templars that had been recruited at the last minute. He was new, young, had a family in the village. So when he was approached with the promise to make a few easy coins, he jumped at it without question to make life better for them. Now, it was going to kill him. If not this elf witch, then he would. "We... ARGH... c-come to... k-kill her a-and, Mmmmahh! allies."

Valmyria Windstrider - Redcliffe Castle - Corridor.

The knife was trembling in her hand when the necromancer thing, person, guy, it, approached her. The mention of her name had chilled her blood and caused her ears to perk up. This was it, it was all over. she might be able to deflect a spell and then dive back out the window, but she wouldn't be getting to far. But then she heard him say

Seirui wrote:"She is wounded badly. Protect us while I apply what help I can." His attention turned back to Valmyria, the skull mask gleaming in the dim torchlight. "We're no enemies of yours... I am Valas, and that is Isador "

He came at her with his hands raised; a sign of good will and peace.

The knife fell out of her hand and clanged to the floor. She soon followed as she slide down against the wall to the floor. Her breathing had become shallow and the blood was flowing more freely than before. The green healing light had sputtered and died. It was a bad blow, a coward's blow. She reached up and took the vial from the mage, poped off the cap, and downed the contents as best she could. It tasted like burning rubber, with the hint of peppermint.

"So... the Black Axe and the Shadowmancer then?" she asked, coughing up some blood. Valmyria knew of them both. One was a legendary Templar gone rogue. The other was a sort of a myth to her people. A mage scared and cursed by the power of pure magic. The potion was working as she could feel strength returning and some tingling near the wound. The healing potion would do its job, but she was still going to need some medical attention after this... If there was a after this for her. "What a strange world this is."

Knight Captain Gregor - Deacon

"You think I had any control over that," hissed Gregor as used his sword to push himself up. He was going to have to be careful now. Disarming his opponent like that had been a stupid movie on his part. The shield could have hindered him, now he had just forced his enemy to forfeit defense and gain speed. Great.

"You think the Templar Order has any control of the Seekers?" he said. "They are a separate branch from us, and yes, you did betray the Order. Do you know who else we were seeking? A mage, a Maker forsaken blood mage, that YOU had so foolishly seen the need to look the other way and allow him to escape. We lost him in the Wilderness. I don't know if the Seekers caused the burning, seems out of their character to be honest. Little bastards usually stalk you, looking for every little mistake you make. OR if it was that damn mage you let go."

Gregor was angry now. Accusations being thrown against him, HIS beloved Order. Sure no single group as perfect, hell look at the Wardens. The Order had faults, but they existed to protect people from mages, and mages from people. He'd never forget the time he had been a escort with a mage on his way to Denerim from the Circle Tower. The King had summoned representatives to council to decide a course of action with the growing hostilities between the Quel'Elhen and the Dalish. On their way through a particular village, a man had tried to rush the mage. He was angry, bitter. His wife and son was killed by his daughter, a little girl that had tapped into her magic on accident, leveling the house in a fiery explosion that had claimed their lives. He had resented all mages since then, and was looking for a outlet; a crack at one. Gregor did his best to keep the man away, but the formidable Templar armor only gets so far. In the end, he was forced to cut the man down to save the mage.

No. He would not be addressed like this. He would not tolerate his Order being slandered by a man who couldn't even hold onto the basic parts of it.

The Knight Captain bought his sword around again, but let it dig into the earth. He used the momentum of the blade to swing himself around and land a armored fist into Deacon's face, knocking the man into the dirt.

"You were a Templar, Deacon!" yelled Gregor at the fallen man. "A champion of the light, a defender of the weak, and a brother to me. I loved you like a brother... and now this..."

It had to be said, Isador was shocked to see the very person Valas and himself had been searching for merely crash through the window in front of them. As Valas rushed to tend to her Strauss looked around and saw that at least a dozen Teryn men had seen this. They came forward with weapons drawn but Isador stood between them and the wounded elf. He looked to the elf as she spoke his title with a look of fierce determination. “Watch closely Warden Commander, you are about to witness what the Black Axe can do when with madness no longer at the reins.” He gripped his axe with both hands and took a few steps towards the soldiers. They seemed surprised at first to see a man who was supposed to be on their side stand to defend the enemy. “The Black Axe has gone mad again, take him out! Theres more pay in it for us!” One of the men shouted as they approached to overwhelm Isador.

Strauss closed his eyes as the enemy closed in around him, maybe too close for comfort from his allies but he simply steadied his breath, a technique taught to him during his training, focus only on breathing, let all other troubles and thoughts melt away like ice. As the first of his opponents rushed to end his life his eyes opened as he stepped just out of the strikes path, sweeping his axe into the back of the man’s knee sending him to the ground screaming in pain. This act caused the others to shift nervously at first but their numbers against the Black Axe gave them some semblance of courage. Resuming his defensive stance Isador grinned wickedly as he had during his battle madness but shrugged off the dark intentions and instead….began to sing. His song was somber, a hymn of the chantry he learned long ago. His voice boomed with strength, the song was one sung at a funeral, he was telling these men that they were going to die in the sweet sounds of the Makers grace. Three soldiers charged the Black Axe at once, swords coming from different directions. With a quick parry Isador deflected two of the attacks but one landed on his shoulder, missing his neck by a lucky shift of his head. Isador winced at the deep gash but the song held strong, his deep voice filled with conviction letting these men know he would not fall.

“This is going to very painful! Ready yourself Valas!” He warned his comrade as his Aura of Pain was activated, letting all around feel Strauss’ injury. The soldiers flinched for a moment from the pain giving Isador ample time to counterattack the man who struck him with a wicked cleave taking off his sword arm and spraying the wall with blood. The song continued, now unnerving the enemy as Isador pressed forward to take pressure off of Valas and Valmyria. Another attacked but his moves were sluggish, still affected by the pain in his shoulder. Isador blocked the attack with the shaft of the Axe and countered with a gauntleted fist to the man’s throat, sending him to the ground gurgling and gasping for breath as a spearman thrust at the Black Axe’ gut but with a quick side spin he fell to the ground without a head as Isador struck back. Before he regained his footing from the attack Isador was caught stumbling back by an arrow in his chest. His armor stopped it from piercing his lung but only barely. As soon as the arrow hit its mark everyone in the area shouted, groaned or grunted from the pain. Isador pulled the arrow from his chest and began to Devour the essence of the slain to heal himself. His song never ceased despite the arrow, its somber tones filling the scene with a sense of doom and yet hope at the same time. Isador’s did not carry the look of a mad man as he had before but that of a man of god defending what he truly believed was right. In the haze of battle Isador however lost sight of what was truly happening, now seeing himself defending an injured Jeni against the corrupt men Isador had slain in retaliation; and this time he would not falter. He blocked two more attacks from the Teryn’s men, crippling ones hand with a counterstrike and kicked the other in the chest, knocking the breath of his lungs. Still his song rang out, a dirge of righteous vengeance come to bear against all who held their weapon against this terrifying combatant. With a quick swing to the ground Isador removed the head of the crippled soldier and Devoured his essence, further healing himself. The remaining soldiers were increasingly wary of attacking this man that sang as he murdered their fellow soldiers. Isador moved forward, placing his boot upon the neck of the man he had kicked, crushing his windpipe he continued to sing. It was live or die and Strauss would not fall here, he had others to bring to justice and nothing on Thedas could stop the bloody vengeance of the Black Axe.

-Teelo-

As Teelo and Zasalim continued their trek through the forests Teelo caught sight of a rather fat rabbit in the brush and instinctively changed in to an owl and flew towards the critter. Silently he swooped down and grabbed the rabbit with his talons and flung it in to the air, quickly changing in to a wolf and catching the unsuspecting animal in his jaws and shook it violently, making sure to kill it before changing back to his true form and spitting out the carcass. “Good prey! Teelo love rabbit!” He said as took a big bite out of the dead, raw flesh and swallowed, stuffing the rest of his catch in his Halla stomach “bag”. When Zasalim spoke the name of the dread wolf Teelo’s ears perked up for a second as if he had heard something familiar but seemed to shrug it off as nothing. Whatever the mark on his back may mean the Forest Child seemed oblivious to its meaning.

It was the shadowmages turn to grin, not the madness kind of grin but the grin of a man who had achieved greatness. It all but changes the air around him as the shadows practically writhed like serpents along his body, dancing out in hopes of infecting those nearest but was held at bay by the willpower of its master. The black mage turned to face the opponents, his staff eagerly rushing to his hand to burst blue and purple flame out of the individual eye sockets.

Blood Lord wrote:"What a strange world this is."

The whispers of unspoken words sank into Val's mind, carried on the dark winds of her thoughts. You will survive, Valmyria Windstrider. I will make sure of that. This world must be righted, and you are the only one capable of starting the march for progress.

Valas winced as the pain aura took hold, but managed to stifle a grunt as the arrow struck home to usher outwards from the singing Ex-Templar. The dirge was something he'd been sung long ago, a memory removed from himself like a dream of some sort. It had been sung at his own funeral. More men had begun to crowd in, lured by the singing and the sound of combat. Six armored spearman were advancing in an orderly line, purple armbands all. Each advancing to reinforce the fallen and the dyeing.

The aura of pain wasn't going to be enough to break formation. The whispers of death were already sailing on black smoke.

To onlookers it was as if a fire was spewing out from behind the axe-wielding goliath, but the smoke did not rise. It crawled and billowed out endlessly along the dead with alarming speed, turning flesh grey and black with its parasitic touch. Only the spot where Isador stood was a wide untouched circle, parting wherever he stepped. The other men were not so fortunate.

The smoke circled them for a brief moment, almost hesitant to engage the last few soldiers who had survived the onslaught of the Reavers dirge, and the reapers vengeance. it swirled around the soldiers and forced them back to back as the smoke churned and suddenly intensified to engulf the remaining men in its 'loving' embrace. The screams ushering from them seemed almost inhuman, choked off by swelling and the inevitable loss of motor function as the infection quickly ate away the last of their strength. Slowly the smoke condensed around them in a tight sphere.

The whisper of death echoed to everyone in the area, wordless but with a clear meaning. All who oppose will die."Felroche."The blue and purple flames erupted violently along the black smoke, burning it to nothingness like a fuse before it ignited the sphere that ended the screams of the paralyzed prey inside with a burst of dancing blue and purple fire, swirling in the sudden pyroclasm to gutter out with the smell of cooked flesh and the sound of sizzling bones. Blackened husks smoldered where once men had stood. The spearmen looked to each other hesitantly but a man in the back of them wearing robes, previously obscured the bulk of the fighting men, was ushering orders to attack anyways. They moved forwards as he began to wave his hands and mutter an arcane spell.

"Stand aside, Isador." Less a command and more a request, Valas stood beside the black axe waiting for the spell to go off. This needed to be timed perfectly.

With a final cry of power, the mage pointed his open hand at Valas with a flourish. The shadowmage lurched forward slightly as the mans will locked onto him, forcing the very essence of his magic to seep out and into the other mage in an attempt to hinder one and bolster his own magic. Normally the essence drained was blue or a slight purple but the one he began to siphon was black as night and screamed into his mind the very meaning of endless torture. The spell ended as quickly as it began, the mage had absorbed no more than a thimble of his power but that was more than enough.

His skin turned grey and the eyes began to sag inwards and lose to color and luster of the living, flesh became wrinkled as the blue essence of magic was pushed from his very soul. Valas only smiled as he retreated back behind Isador, staff clenched tightly. "My magic shapes its host. To drain it is to accept it completely," A scream escaped the other mages lips as he slit his own throat, ending the suffering and the transformation where it was. "Only I can control such hell.." He whispered.

The blow had hit Deacon harder than he had expected, but the dirt thankfully behaved in an opposite manner. He brought himself up as Gregor continued,

Blood Lord wrote:"You were a Templar, Deacon!" yelled Gregor at the fallen man. "A champion of the light, a defender of the weak, and a brother to me. I loved you like a brother... and now this..."

Rather than stand up, Deacon merely sat down, his blade planted into the dirt. "I am..." He spat out the blood in his mouth, then continued. "...as much that man now... as I was then. I have always stood for that which the Order represents, Gregor. It is merely their methods that I cannot stand for." As he sat there, he looked around the area. There did not seem to be anyone eying them, so then what was this feeling...? He brought his attention back to Gregor, and continued speaking.

"Oh... and this 'blood mage' that you speak of? Did you even know who he was, or why he had been labeled as such, or did you just believe what you were told?" He looked to the sky in recollection. "I remember him well, don't you? A twelve-year-old Elvish boy... I believe Zergos was his name. He had no desire to serve the Chantry, or even be a mage, for that matter. All he wanted was to return to his family, so when I left, I helped him escape as well. And now, he is living a good life, one free of the fear of persecution..."

Deacon stood up, and readied himself once again. His opponent seemed tired of hearing him speak. "It doesn't matter. It is clear that I cannot convince you. However, I am no fool, Gregor. You have been buying time here as much as I have." It was clear to him, now, what this feeling was. Something else was in the castle, something that wasn't there before... "So tell me, Gregor... What is your 'Trump Card' this time?"

The expression on the girl’s face dimmed significantly as the soldiers began to feel the effects of her spell. She knew that it was only a matter of time before it took hold, so now there was no longer a need for her to put up a façade. Airi didn’t enjoy killing people but at times it was necessary, she often wished that her prowess did not come in such a gruesome form of magic. The girl walked forward, her grim expression watched as the soldiers began to convulse and cry out in agony. It would have only been a matter of time before someone broke, this kind of pain drove into the deepest parts of any person and was something that could even drive someone mad. One of the Templar knights finally opened their mouths, spurting out what she wanted to hear between cries of pain. This was the information that she had wanted, however it wasn’t something that she wished to hear. The expression on her face darkened somewhat, this whole battle was to kill off the warden commander.

“Is that so…” the girl said plainly, raising her staff into the air as she cast a spell of sleep upon all of the Templar. They had suffered enough for now, perhaps a few could even live through the effects of the spell… however Airi knew better to hope for such a mercy for these men. At the very least they could pass in their sleep now, this was all she could think to comfort herself about murdering the soldiers. Without another moment’s notice the girl hurried her way out of the room and down the hallway, there was no way that she would allow these people to kill Valmyria.

-Bill-

The stone knight cursed under his breath as he felt the pain in the back of his knee, it wasn’t a serious injury but it proved that the person he was fighting knew about the weak points in armor. He wasn’t fighting against an amateur, the wound on his leg and the fact that the other person was still alive was proof enough. Bill smirked a little underneath his helmet, the dark blood dripping from his foe’s mouth brought something to his attention. He was fighting a darkspawn, this was a first even for someone as experienced as the stone knight. His eyes watched the figure of his foe as it drew out a scimitar, readying itself for combat even after taking such a blow. A scimitar wasn’t a weapon meant for being used against armor, however a skilled warrior could easily attack weak points for some effect.

This darkspawn had experience dealing with men wearing armor, however he doubted that any were as skilled as he was. The stone knight knew his weaknesses well, even in such a suit of armor he could defend those weak points and blind spots far better than any other schmuck in armor. As the darkspawn closed in upon Bill they both readied their weapons for an attack. Zha had already made some progress breaking through Bill’s armor behind his knee, so it was likely an attack would come from that direction eventually. Bill raised his club high into the air, his teeth grinding together as he waited for the darkspawn to make the first move. By now all of the smoke had been cleared away from the area, it was just the two warriors in the middle of the courtyard. Zha used his speed to his advantage, slowly increasing his pace as he grew closer to the mountain of a knight.

For a moment it seemed as if Bill was going to let the darkspawn make the first move, he held his ground firmly as Zha charged towards him. The stone knight however was simply waiting for the right moment, as soon as the darkspawn was within range the knight swung his club horizontally at the oncoming foe. Although unexpected, Zha’s reaction was flawless. He ducked underneath the heavy swing as he continued to move forwards, diving to the side and sweeping his scimitar towards the back of Bill’s leg. However the attack did not meet flesh as it had done before, the stone knight slid his leg backwards and turned it just enough so that steel was met with the rocky surface that covered the man’s thigh. The scimitar chipped off a few flakes of the stony material, however it hardly even scratched the armor underneath. Zha didn’t hesitate from the failed strike, he dove simply from instinct to once again avoid the massive dragon tooth club. This time Zha’s attack came as he rolled forwards under Bill’s arm, the scimitar reaching up for the underside of Bill’s armpit. The blades path was heading right for another soft spot in the man’s armor, but once again Bill was able to react accordingly.

Zha’s attack was met with the hard shell of Bill’s armor yet again, this time from the man’s elbow as he moved to intercept the attack part way through. This pattern repeated itself several times, Zha’s attack would come frequently and precisely however they would always get blocked by the man’s subtle but effective movements. In the meantime Bill’s heavy attacks seemed to never hit their mark either, the darkspawn’s agility was leagues ahead of how quickly the man could swing his massive club. For a while it seemed as if things would continue this way, but Bill wasn’t about to allow this stand off to last for much longer. As Zha dodged his way from another one of Bill’s strikes he moved in to attack once again, however this time he was met with another unexpected resistance. Bill had taken a large backswing this time, using the curvature of his dragon tooth to his advantage. The club curved around Bill’s backside and the massive head emerged out from behind where Zha was about to attack.

This unexpected move caught Zha off guard just long enough for it to connect with the darkspawn’s side, it was a much lighter attack than any of the others but it would still hurt nonetheless. As Zha was knocked off balance Bill was prepared to come forward with his swing, an attempt to end this battle once and for all. However Zha’s skill didn’t prevent him from attacking while being in such a position, his scimitar thrust forward suddenly at the stone knight’s face. Bill’s awareness kicked in just enough to prevent his skull from being pierced, his whole body jerking backwards as the thrust entered through the slits of his helmet. The blade struck true but shallow, slicing the flesh from eyebrow to forehead on the stone knight. It was mere centimeters away from taking the man’s eye, however as the blood flowed it prevented him from using it anyways. Bill continued with his swing, however by now Zha had managed to fall backwards just enough for the club to miss smashing him into the pavement.

This was what the darkspawn lived for. Breathed for. Killed for. The feeling of unmatched powers colliding in an inevitable clash for supremacy unlike anything either opponents could comprehend. To the players it was a series of times strikes, perfect blocks, and immense concentration all contained in a single area of pure devastation. To Zha'Gren the Darkspawn hunter and William "Boulder Bill" O'Dim, this was a moment of pure adrenaline and the thrill of an opponent who rose above and beyond the standard of combat.

To onlookers, it was as if two gods had decided to end their centuries old conflict. The aura exuded from these two meshed flawlessly to infect any onlookers with a dumbfounded sense of wonderment as two clear masters of their killing art unleashed inhuman agility and the strength of a mountain itself.

The darkspawn let out a roar of triumph as his blade slashed inside the helmet, finally finding the soft flesh of the man inside. Intoxicating was the aroma of freshly spilled blood, pumping adrenaline through sore limbs to replace the weariness with a frenzied need for a kill. For a worthy end to a fight. To beat the odds and finally win against a clear disadvantage. Zha'Gren ran forwards in a sudden rush, the bloodshot eyes showing clearly the desire of a kill. Bent low and running, he picked up a large chunk of rock and skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding a strong sweep from bills club, likely hoping to catch the darkspawn in his run before it could be corrected, and let fly the head-sized stone with all the strength in his arm. Bill shattered it with a devastating backhand of his club, showing amazing dexterity in such a bulky frame. But he missed the point of the stone.

Even as the movement registered it was too late, Zha'gren had leaped the distance between himself and the boulder man with a tremendous roar to land a full-bodied dropkick into Bills face, though not entirely effective against a mountain made flesh it did however cause him to stumble back from the shock of impact and the helmet slamming into the wound. Already the red stain of victory blossomed from his helmet. Zha tucked in his legs as his momentum carried the agile hunter in a complete backflip, the sword lashing out at the neck. Bills arm shot up on instinct to protect any potential threat and caught the blade on the back of his hand and it was his turn to be surprised as the scimitar bit through stone and steel to draw a shallow cut across the back of his hand.A light touchdown on the ground had the Darkspawn suddenly on the defensive, William swung seemingly in a wild and unpredictable fashion that left no room for a quick weapon to get in and finish the job. Frantic rolls, daring mid-air spins, and a desperate fling backwards saved the hunter once again from being turned to a smear on the ground even as bill came in with a sudden rush, having shoved the hunter into the back wall.

Down went the club, crushing off Zha's chance to escape on the left even as Bills wounded hand came forward to smash a great hole in the stone wall opposite of the club, effectively cutting off escape and clipping the scimitar from his hand with bone-rattling force. Now it was time for the desperate part.

Like a striking snake he grabbed hold of the strange double bladed knife resting neatly down his leg, a simple flick and a short mental command extended the trident out to its full length, the blades jutting out to either side like the maw of a great serpent closing in on its kill. The blade ended just out of range of Williams eye as the mountain all dropped his club to turn and slam his open palm into the darkspawn bone mask and drawing stars infront of Zha'Grens eyes for a brief moment as the two goliaths hit a stand-still.

Zha need but flick his wrist to strike through the eye and into the brain, quicker than thought, and William need only flex his fingers to break his head like an egg. A low growl escaped his lips as Zha'Gren waiting for his end. But he would not go down alone. Both would die if they so much as flinched. "Make... Your move... Warrior." He rasped, the words were scratchy and hard to understand in its rough tongue as it breathed heavily, a single eye glaring into Williams as the entire side of his face was covered by the monstrous iron and stone hand.

Marcus Hammerstrike.

The feint came in, like he'd expected, aiming to try and grab hold for whatever reason. Likely to administer a quick and clean execution of the old man standing defiantly in front of the massive Qunari. It was only then he registered the sound of Valmyria grunting from pain, and Vovins gasp. Something had gone wrong. The Qunari had likely felt the same thing he had. The warhammer swung out to smash the axeblade away, his hand outstretching to grasp the reaching Qunari's wrist hard enough to bed the steel. "We'll settle this later." Marcus growled, turning to face the threat.

He only just saw Valmyria's daring escape from certain death, Vovin's pride setting his actions right, and the betrayer tasting betrayal himself. "We have to find her. Quickly." A glance backward at the Qunari and a nod confirmed the shaky alliance between them all for now as the greater need took precedence over petty squabble.